


The Sand in Your Shoes

by mertlekang



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Memory Loss, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mertlekang/pseuds/mertlekang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were on the run – just the two of them. What they were running from, neither of them spared a thought for. They were eighteen. They were young, they were beautiful and they were stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this around 3-4 years ago and it was my first fanfic ever! How time flies!

He laughed as Heechul tripped over his own feet, falling face-first into the shallow water. He resurfaced a few seconds later, coughing and spluttering over-dramatically and flicking his wet hair from his face. He didn't laugh for long, though, before a mischievous smirk twitched at Heechuls lips and his arms flew out to pull Geng down with him, cackling and squealing as he chased him through the crashing waves.

It was all good and fun until they realised they hadn't brought spare clothes, the sun setting and blowing a chill wind over the empty shore. They lay back on the wet sand, the cool sea breeze chilling their soaking bodies as they watched the sky paint the sea a deep shade of red, the sun sinking slowly beneath the horizon.

Geng turned his head to look at the boy lying next to him, staring intently at the burning sky. The light glinted in his eyes and played shadows over his pretty face, and Geng couldn't help but want to touch the perfection he found so close to him.

'What are you doing?' Heechul whispered, his breath catching when he caught the look in the other boys eyes. It felt as though he could see through him, as if he was naked, vulnerable.

Only he could look at him like that.

'Lets run away,' he breathed, and it was so quiet that Heechul almost missed it, 'just you and me.' and he didn't know what to say.

He sat up, looking out across the sea, stars slowly dotting the purple sky as the sun disappeared to shed light on another part of the world, and he sighed. 'Just you, me and that piece of shit you call a car, huh?'

'It has feelings too, you know,' Hankyung grumbled, getting to his feet and brushing the sand from his damp jeans, 'but, what do you think?'

'What about money?'

'We don't need money,' he offered Heechul his hand, 'we'll go from town to town, and I'll use my charm and good looks to earn petrol and food.' 

Heechul laughed, taking his hand and pulling himself up, 'Sure, Prince Charming.' he teased, feeling the sand sink beneath his toes.

'If I'm Prince Charming, then you must be my Cinderella.'

Heechul snorted, 'Only if I can wear a tiara.'

'As you wish, Princess.'


	2. Moths Upon Old Scarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was my whole heart, and to be honest it still is... I miss Hanchul...

Hangeng smiled, glancing over to the passenger seat where Heechul sat; feet propped up on the dashboard as he looked out of the open window, the wind blowing his meticulously styled hair all over the place; dainty hands flying up every few seconds to pull a stray strand from his mouth.

He sighed, looking back at the road. He loved the countryside, everything was clean and fresh, a parallel of the city he’d come to loathe. He watched the sun pool in through gaps in the eaves arching overhead, the trees weaved together to create a tunnel. It was silent save for the static buzzing of some peppy, upbeat pop song by a girl band Hangeng didn’t bother to remember – Heechul’s choice, of course. 

He almost felt sorry for the girls who sang the songs Heechul crooned over. They were manufactured, made to believe fame was everlasting only to be thrown into the spotlight until they were deemed too dull, too old. It was sad, but he didn’t dwell on it, and why should he. As long as Heechul kept humming those tunes like a second language, he didn’t care at all, because he loved hearing Heechul’s voice; be it humming, talking or singing in the shower, no matter what anyone else said, it was like music to his ears.

‘Do you think anyone will miss us?’ Heechul sighed, turning away from the blurring hues of greenery whizzing past the window. His tone was almost sad, like a child asking for reassurance, but they both knew the answer, and Hangeng wasn’t a liar.

‘They probably won’t even realise we’re gone.’ It was a grim truth, but he’d learnt to accept it. His mother was a drunk, only ever having enough conscious thought to pour another glass of whisky – and she never spilt a drop. Heechul’s parents were long gone; throwing some money at him and high-tailing it out of the country, because they were too young for children. Too beautiful for a dirty child to haggle them all the time, to ruin their perfect lives. They’d regret it, Hangeng thought, if they saw how beautiful their child had grown to be.

Their friends didn’t care for them much, either. Hangeng was a wallflower, he kept to himself; but Heechul was a social parasite. People liked having him around if they wanted to party, but they kept their distance otherwise. He had a personality, and they didn’t know how to handle it.

They wouldn’t miss them.

He sometimes wondered how he and Heechul became so close, because they were so different. Opposites attract, and all that jazz, but Hangeng just guessed it was because he could put up with Heechul’s bullshit, and because he paid attention to him. Heechul made Hangeng feel like a person. Whatever he lacked, Heechul made up for.

He kept his eyes trained on the winding, bending country lane ahead of them. In no way could he afford to wreck his car; the car he’d spent two years of gruelling hard work, six part time jobs and seven assignments to buy. It was a piece of crap, sure, but he was proud of it.

They were on the run – just the two of them. What they were running from, neither of them spared a thought for, because they were eighteen. They were young, they were beautiful and they were stupid.

The road seemed never ending, the trees blurring by and the light glinting in Heechul’s wide, brown eyes. Heechul, Hangeng thought, had a way of looking beautiful every passing second. He was like a dream, and Hangeng didn’t want to wake up. It was like being with royalty; Heechul was the princess and he was the pauper begging for hospitality.

‘Princess,’ he whispered, breaking the comfortable silence that had filled the car, save the radio buzzing away in search of signal and the deep rumbling of the car engine. He looked at Heechul, and Heechul looked at him, and he faltered. He wasn’t going to chicken out, though, because he’d waited too many years to get Heechul alone, to have him to himself. His mouth ran dry, and he licked nervously at his lips. 

‘What would you do,’ he looked away, glancing back at the road, but he focused on Heechul’s beautiful face again, looking so perplexed, as if Hangeng was speaking another language, ‘What would you do if-‘

\--------------

Hangeng opened his eyes, though he couldn’t recall when he’d closed them; and it was dark – or were his eyes still closed? He felt numb, his head like a ball of cotton wool, but after a moment it all cleared away, and he felt everything. It was overwhelming.

He felt pain. White-hot, searing pain, from his toes to his thighs. His neck was stiff and his head pounding, and there was a heavy stench of copper – of blood – hanging around him, settling on his tongue, making him gag.

But he ignored the warnings his brain was sending him, ignored the pain in his neck as he turned, because Heechul was with him, and Heechul was more important. He didn’t see the flashing lights blurred in the rain-dotted, cracked windscreen, and he couldn’t hear the sirens ringing in his ears, because Heechul was there, beside him.

And he screamed. He screamed until his lungs were burning, until his throat was raw, because Heechul was there, bloody and mangled in the wreckage of metal and glass.

Bent, broken, just like the car. He could feel hands on him, hear voices shouting some nonsense he didn’t understand, but he didn’t care for that. He couldn’t take his eyes off Heechul. It was sick, in a way, how he could look so beautiful, so fragile right then. It was a macabre sort of beauty, one that ripped the words from his throat and left him with empty sobs and hoarse cries for help, for rescue.

For Heechul.

\-----------

Hangeng cracked open an eyelid, but shut it abruptly as a blinding white light burned at his irises. He could hear a steady beeping beside him, and it reeked of anti-septic, so he deduced he was in hospital. He risked opening his eyes again, wincing at the brightness around him before his eyes adjusted and he could see properly. His leg was in a cast, strung up and hanging in mid-air, and his neck was in a brace – he guessed, because he couldn’t move it much.

‘Heechul,’ he croaked, and the nurse stood at his bedpost turned towards him, seeing that he was awake. ‘Where’s Heechul?’ 

She smiled at him reassuringly, placing soft, feminine hands on his arm to stop him from fidgeting, ‘Don’t move too much. We’ll take you to your friend.’

They wheeled him to the Intensive Care Unit, the rusty wheelchair squeaking as it rolled along the white, clinical hallway. They had to hold him down in his seat when he entered Heechul’s bay, because the urge to run to him was so strong, and he couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t let him.

He wanted to hold those pale, limp hands in his own and see him smile up at him, tell him he was joking, just playing around. But he didn’t. Those hands stayed limp, delicate in his larger ones. There were so many wires, so many machines around his cot it was overwhelming, and people kept trying to ask Hangeng questions. He didn’t answer, he couldn’t, because Heechul was more important.

They’d cleaned him up, Hangeng guessed, because his hair was brushed and his skin was clean. But there was no colour in his skin, no plumpness in those lips, and it broke his heart.

Because, all in all, it was his fault.

\-------

They’d been in a car accident, the police told him. A car drove too fast around the corner, not being able to brake in time to avoid their car on the narrow country road. Heechul had broken his hip, fractured eight bones and sustained severe brain damage.

The doctor had told him there was no hope. That even if, on the tiny, miniscule chance he survived, he’d be a vegetable. He’d be chained to a wheelchair, and he’d have no memories, not even enough to know how to speak. The doctor had left. Left him there in that dull, dank consultation room for a moment of thought. But not a year, not a century would stop those words resounding in his head, and he thought that maybe, if he didn’t hold onto that chance, that tiny hope that he’d survive, then maybe his heart would stop. Maybe he’d breathe his last breath, right in that second, because Heechul was his everything.

They were like a teabag and hot water, Heechul and Geng. Heechul was the flavour, the taste, and Hangeng was the heat, the base, the strength. 

But what was tea without the tea bag? Just water. And Hangeng felt like he was drowning.

\------

He was released from hospital only a week after the accident, but he didn’t leave Heechul’s side, didn’t let go of that hand for fear he’d lose him completely. And he thanked the God’s he did, because he didn’t know what would have happened if those fingers hadn’t curled gently, weakly into his, interlacing the digits. 

Kim Heechul was strong, and somewhere in his subconscious, he knew there was something still worth fighting for.

Still words he needed to hear.

 

\--------

Heechul was awake. He screamed at anyone who came near him, because they were plotting against him; putting drugs in his IV and injecting him with poison. They were killing him, he knew it, because he felt numb. From his toes to his fingertips, he felt numb. But there’d be those moments where all he felt was pain, so unbearable he just wanted to die, but it’d disappear as fast as it had arrived, warm hands wrapping around his cold ones, whispering things he couldn’t understand in his ear. He liked the voice those hands belonged to, it was familiar, and he wished he could see more than just blurred faces, more than hazy colours, because he wanted to see the face of the voice. 

He wanted to know who whispered in his ear each night, before the morphine kicked in and dragged him into the darkness again. The one who told him stories he could barely understand, because that accent would grow thicker with every word, and he could hear the tears in that silky voice.

The one who whispered, ‘I love you,’ like it was a prayer.

\-------

Heechul was moved from the intensive care unit three days after he woke up, but he was too aggressive to be kept on a ward, and they placed him in his own bay, away from the other patients.

Hangeng had his own bed there. The nurses had felt sorry for him, sitting there in that uncomfortable chair day in and day out, and had moved one from an empty room. A little charm and exotic good looks could go a long way – and Geng had plenty to spare.

The nurses realised rather quickly that there was no point in flirting, though, because they’d see how the Chinese teen looked at that boy.

He’d never look at them the same.

They wondered why he stayed put, what the attraction was, because to them that boy had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He’d recovered surprisingly fast, but they’d found that he was narcissistic and bratty, and for all his good looks he had the mouth of a sailor. 

But what confused them more was the seemingly limitless dedication the Chinese boy had for his friend. He never left his side, only to use the bathroom or buy another cup of coffee – though, the nurses had started doing that for him, because they were tired of seeing him roaming the hallways in search of the vending machines like a lost soul. He looked miserable every time he left that room.

After a while, though, the nurses and doctors – even some of the patients – warmed up to Heechul. They thought he was funny, his bluntness was somewhat endearing and he gave them someone to talk to after a long, gruelling shift. 

Anyone that visited or had Heechul as patient could easily see there was something between him and the teen beside him. The way they spoke without needing words, the way they laughed at nothing, they way they touched.

Sometimes they’d go to give the bed-ridden boy his nightly painkillers, but they’d stop in the doorway, because they didn’t want to disturb the two so closely entwined on the hospital bed, arms wrapped around each other and legs interwoven under the cotton bed sheets.

It was young love at its sweetest, but it was heartbreaking to watch, because that boy would be crippled for life – it was a miracle he was even alive – and eventually, one day, Hangeng would run out of patience. Heechul was broken merchandise, and sometimes even the sweetest thing can turn bitter.

\---

Heechul was a miracle, they’d said. He shouldn’t have even woken up; he shouldn’t have even been able to talk. But he did, and he just never stopped surprising them. It was because he was healthy, because he was young, they said, but more than that – it was because he had something to live for.

He’d been sat in that bed for six months, sat in that wheelchair for a year, and he’d finally finished his physical therapy. Hangeng had never seen him smile so bright as he did when he took those first, wobbly steps. 

The newfound freedom didn’t stop him from complaining every five minutes about how ‘the handles hurt his hands’ and ‘the crutches were ugly,’ though.

The whole hospital knew them by then, from the children’s ward to the burns unit, and it was a grand farewell when they finally had to leave. The nurses – the males included – were especially heartbroken to see them go. Two handsome faces they’d miss, but would never want to see again – under those circumstances, anyhow.

\-----------

They’d bought a small, inner-city apartment, just big enough for the two of them. They didn’t even have to ask each other if they were going to move in together – they just knew. They got a decent sum of compensation money, enough for them to live comfortably for a long time – well, if Heechul didn’t love clothes so much, but it would last long enough. There were two bedrooms, fully furnished, but they’d pushed the double bed from one of the rooms into the master bedroom with the other bed, because Hangeng couldn’t rest easy unless Heechul was lying next to him, wrapped in his arms and breathing softly against his neck, dribbling onto the collar of his shirt.

\------------

He got a job in a coffee shop – by Heechul’s request. ‘Free cakes,’ had been his only reply when Hankyung asked him ‘why?’ and griped about the pink, frilly apron he had to wear day in, day out.

He gave up eventually, though, because he always did. He’d do anything for Heechul, even wear a pink, frilly apron and fend off the horde of teenage girls that flooded in at lunchtimes, hopelessly attempting to get his number.

Heechul would visit him at work sometimes after physiotherapy, glaring daggers at the gaggle of girls giggling as they sat around one of the tables, blushing over the handsome Chinese man behind the counter, and whispering about how adorable he looked in pink – amongst other things that made Heechul’s stomach flip in distaste.

It wasn’t that he disagreed with the girls. Hankyung was indeed handsome, and the pink frilly apron didn’t look as ungainly as it should’ve, but seeing his best friend getting so much attention irked him for some reason. Before the crash – before they’d ran away – Hankyung was always the quiet one in the group. His Korean was bad, stunted, and people didn’t have the patience for him. Back then, Heechul had been the only one to talk to him, to listen – well, mostly talk – because Hankyung was good company. Hankyung was his. 

He smiled softly into his steaming mug of coffee, watching Hankyung as he flashed his winning smile at a customer.

He was jealous.

\----

Hangeng wrapped his tanned arms around Heechul’s slender waist, his woolly kitten pyjama shirt riding up a little, and he relaxed into his scent; nuzzling his neck and smiling softly against the warm, milky skin.

‘Kyung,’ Heechul whispered, and Hangeng’s heart must’ve jumped into his throat. He’d thought the smaller man was asleep. He hummed against his neck to show he was listening, not noticing how the hairs on his nape seemed to stand on edge at the sensation. ‘You know,’ he continued, ‘I remember what you said before we crashed.’ He felt the Chinese man tense, his breath catching slightly, ‘you never finished your question.’

And he panicked, of course he did, but he wasn’t sure why. If he had the guts to say it back then, that day three years ago, what was stopping him from saying it now?

It wasn’t like Heechul could run away.

He drew a breath, pulling away from the warmth of Heechul’s back to roll him over, facing him, before laying back down on the pillow – even though the bed was huge, they slept so close they only needed one – and staring deep into those wide, chocolate eyes. Even in the dark he knew every inch of Heechul’s face, knew every feature, every blemish, and he traced the line of his jaw softly, gently before whispering, ‘What would you do,’ he leaned in, pressing their noses together ever so slightly, feeling Heechul’s breath on his lips, ‘If I told you I loved you.’ 

\--------------

It was awkward at first, the tentative touching of lips against lips as they held each other closer, tighter, but in a way it was perfect, innocent. Even though Hankyung’s lips were cracked and dry, and his stubble kept scratching Heechul’s chin, it was sweet and gentle and just perfect. Perfect because they were Hangeng’s lips against his, Hankyung’s arms around his waist, Hankyung’s fingers in his hair. It was Hankyung’s large hands on the small of his back, pulling him closer, so close he could hardly breathe, but still not close enough. His fingers stroking his jaw, tracing the line of his neck before threading themselves in his hair.

He liked this, he thought. The feeling of Hankyung finally coming out of his shell, doing what Heechul was too scared to do. He wanted to melt into the warmth that was his best friend, to feel those lips all over him, exploring the skin he would be too ashamed to show anyone else.

They parted, a split second where breathing felt like suffocating, like being away from Hankyung was like drowning. But it wasn’t long before he was pulled closer again; those lips becoming more adventurous as they licked at his own, pleading, daring him to let him inside and taste him. And he was hesitant to oblige, because he’d never felt a sensation so delightfully strange as this, and he didn’t know what to do.

But Hankyung was there, his fingers moving to his hand, interlacing the digits and letting Heechul take the risk, to kiss back, to lose himself in Hankyung’s taste, Hankyung’s smell, Hankyung’s everything.

\--------

Geng closed the cash register, flashing a smile at his customer as she walked away with her coffee. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Heechul since he’d woken up early to start his shift, leaving him wrapped in sheets and deep in sleep.

They’d fallen asleep like that, lips still gently pressed together and their limbs entwined, Heechul’s woolly kitten sweater scratching at his bare chest.

He turned as the back door was thrust open loudly, a red-faced Shin Donghee huffing and puffing as he hurriedly took his coat off, apologising for being late and relieving Hangeng of his shift. He felt his breath catch, though, when he turned back to the counter, seeing Heechul grinning at him over the cake cabinet. 

‘Free cake?’

They sat at one of the few tables in the coffee shop, Heechul quickly digging into the pink-frosted vanilla sponge cake he’d pretty much stolen from the cake cabinet, and Hangeng watching in silent amusement. The girls were there again, it seemed they escaped from school at lunchtimes just to see their favourite Chinese shop assistant, and Heechul seemed to notice them looking at him, so he pulled Geng in for a deep, showy kiss that tasted of cakes and coffee, and it seemed to pay off – the girls drawing their attention away to squeal and giggle over how adorable it was.

Heechul reached down under the table, picking up something seemingly heavy – if his facial expression was anything to go by – and placing it on the table between him and Hangeng.

‘I bought a cat.’ he grinned, and Hangeng groaned, because he knew he’d be the one looking after the bloody thing. ‘I’m going to call it Champagne.’ he cooed, poking a finger into one of the gaps in its box.

‘Why champagne?’

‘I like champagne.’ Heechul shrugged, and Hangeng sighed.

‘You’ve never even tasted champagne.’

\---

Heechul was complaining again that night. His feet were hurting, aching and throbbing, and his hip was sore. He’d ran out of his pain medication again, though he’d only picked up his last prescription two days before. Hangeng knew something was amiss, Heechul was only allowed three pills a day, but he shrugged it off, compliantly walking to the twenty-four-hour chemist five blocks away in the dead of night only to return to find Heechul curled up on the sofa, fast asleep and squeezing Champagne tightly to his chest, television on full volume, stuck on some terrible drama Heechul had a guilty pleasure for.

He left the medicine on their coffee table, draping a throw over Heechul’s sleeping form before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and going to bed.

He’d never noticed how huge that bed was without Heechul in it. 

\---

Hangeng awoke – not to the chirping of birds or the soft sound of Heechul snoring, but to the sickening sound of Heechul retching.

He’d taken too many painkillers, he’d said. The pain was just too unbearable, he’d been too uncomfortable to sleep and they hadn’t worked fast enough, so he just kept taking more.

But Hangeng didn’t miss the word ‘addictive’ on the small orange tub, and he made sure they were well out of Heechul’s reach.

\-----

Hangeng rolled over in the large bed, finding nothing but cold sheets in place of the warm Heechul he’d expected to find there.

He crept into their small kitchen, seeing a silhouette flitting about near the cupboards, and flicking the switch revealed Heechul looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

But he wasn’t looking for cookies, and Hangeng wanted to throw something, hit something. But he didn’t. He reached the medicine from the top shelf, tipping a single white pill into Heechul’s outstretched palm.

‘Just one?’ 

\-----------

‘I feel better when I take them,’ Heechul said, sipping his coffee as he looked at Geng across from him in the small café near their apartment. ‘I feel eighteen again, like I’m not a cripple.’

Hangeng hated that word.

‘You’re not a cripple.’ 

Because he was the reason Heechul was chained to his crutches for life, the reason he never finished high school, the reason he wouldn’t live to see fifty.

‘What do you call me, then? I’m useless; I can’t do anything for myself!’ Heechul was raising his voice, and people were starting to look at them.

‘You can do enough,’ Hangeng stood from his chair, scraping it along the tiled floor, ‘it’s not worth killing yourself over it!’ 

‘You don’t understand how I feel!’ Heechul shouted, ‘You got out of this easy, I’ll never walk without these fucking crutches ever again!’ Hangeng had enough, grabbing his coat from the back of his seat and storming out of the café, leaving Heechul alone, crying to himself, his coffee cold and forgotten.

\---

‘I want to run again,’ Heechul whispered, choking on his words as he slumped against the eggshell wallpaper and slid to the floor, hands limp by his sides, ‘remember the beach, Geng?’ he looked up, ‘I want us to be like that again. Free, no pain, no crash.’ and that’s when the floodgates opened, and Heechul looked utterly defeated as Hangeng sunk to the floor and wrapped his arms around him, cradling him as he sobbed and balled his fists into Geng’s shirt.

‘I’m sorry.’ Geng whispered into his hair, and Heechul took a breath.

‘What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?’ he smiled weakly through the tears, incredulous as to how he fell in love with such an idiot.

‘It was my fault – the crash. I wasn’t looking, I could’ve-‘ but Heechul’s lips cut him off, needy, urgent against his own, telling him to shut up in his own way, but he pulled away quickly, whispering quietly against those lips he loved so much,

‘Geng,’ he looked up into those eyes, ‘make me feel young again.’

\----

For all his confidence, he'd always been insecure about his body, and he couldn't help but feel ashamed as he lay there in nothing but his skin, brown eyes raking over every imperfection. 

The instinct to hide, to cover himself was strong, but Hankyung’s touch was stronger, and every insecurity flew to the back of his mind when he felt soft lips pressed to his skin, tracing the scar running from his skinny hip to his slender thigh; and the urge to run faded as soon as gentle - yet strong - hands tentatively traced his hipbones, those soft lips grazing his chest and creating sparks where they touched his skin, setting his very flesh alight.

And in that moment Heechul thought that maybe Hankyung was the best painkiller, every touch erasing his aches; and every press of lips against his own like the sweetest medicine.

Hankyung handled him like he was made of porcelain, gently and carefully, and it made his heart swell at the notion. But he knew well enough that Hankyung was too kind, too caring to ask for more, to hold him tighter, rougher; and Heechul wanted to see him unravel, to give in to the feeling of their bodies pressed so close, bare against one another and their limbs entangled, moans and whispered ‘i love you’s being the only sound in the silence of their room. But he’d have to wait till the next time, because soon enough – too soon – he was gripping the sheets, curling his toes as he came, crying Hankyung’s name aloud as he shook.

\---------

Hangeng regarded his reflection in their bedroom mirror, fixing his tie and smoothing down the creases in his shirt. He saw Heechul stir in his peripheral and soon he heard his sleepy, broken voice whisper; ‘where are you going?’

He turned to look at Heechul; hair a mess, bed sheets pulled up to his chest and pale thighs peeking out from the covers. He would have found it cute, endearing, but Heechul’s eyes were wide, a frantic expression of betrayal on an otherwise gorgeous face.

‘Work – you know I’m at work today.’ Hangeng answered simply, a look of confusion settling on his features, ‘where else would I be going?’ he watched as Heechul’s eyes flitted around nervously, arms wrapping around his knees as he pulled them to his chest. ‘Do you trust me that little?’

Heechul kept his eyes trained on his fingers, fiddling with the material of the duvet. ‘I thought,’ he mumbled, ‘because we had sex…’

‘That I’d leave you?’ Hangeng finished, ‘Heechul, if I wanted you for sex, I wouldn’t have told you I loved you.’ he crossed the room to Heechul’s side of the bed, cupping a hand under his chin and turning his face towards him. ‘And besides, we didn’t have sex. We made love.’ he closed the distance between them, capturing Heechul’s plump lips in a passionate kiss, feeling himself being pulled down on top of the smaller man. He pulled away, only when they needed breath, and admired the sight of Heechul breathless and flustered beneath him, his hands coming to play with his tie, tugging it gently before looking back up at him in a way that made his breath hitch.

‘How about you miss work today – I’m sure Shindong will understand.’ Heechul smirked, not giving Hangeng time to reply before tugging abruptly on his tie for another kiss, wrapping his long legs around Hangeng’s hips. 

Hangeng wondered why Heechul even bothered to ask.

\-------------

Hangeng hummed as he stretched, smiling at the peaceful expression on his lovers fair face as he slept, and feeling a little guilty as he brushed a stray strand of hair from over his eyes before whispering, ‘wake up, Heechul.’

He loved Heechul’s sleepy face, grumpy as it was. He found it endearing, the half hearted glare he’d shoot through his tired, half-open eyes.

‘Happy birthday.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he groaned, eyebrows furrowed, ‘my birthday was last week, remember?’ he rolled over, ‘We went to the beach.’ 

‘But Heechul,’ Hangeng started, but Heechul was already asleep, and he lay back on his pillow, feeling a dead weight settle on his chest. ‘We haven’t been to the beach since we were eighteen.’

\----

Heechul let out a sharp breath, clutching his head as a sharp ripple of pain assaulted his nerves, his shopping bags crashing to the concrete; the contents spilling out across the sidewalk. Not a single person stopped to see if he was okay, simply walking by as he dropped to his knees, moaning in agony. He felt like his head was being crushed, as if his mind would blow at any second. He felt like he was dying. But it passed as soon as it came, and he felt like he was in euphoria, the cold concrete beneath his skin felt like it had dropped from under him, and he was floating. He couldn’t move. He felt weightless, but it was stifling and it felt like he was watching himself, seeing himself through another persons eyes.

\-----------

He felt a familiar numbness in his skin, a dead weight on his body. The sterile smell of a hospital invaded his senses and he didn’t even have to wonder where Hankyung was. He clenched his heavy hands, feeling a larger one squeeze back, and he heard a soft exhale beside him.

‘Heechul?’ whispered the familiar, accented voice, and he dared to open his eyes. The room was dark, a small lamp on his bedside table barely creating any light.

‘I bet you thought you’d got rid of me this time, hey?’ Heechul joked, but Hankyung didn’t laugh, only stared at him, lips pulled in a thin line against unusually pale skin. ‘What happened to me?’

‘You had a seizure.’ Hankyung said, ‘A terrible seizure.’ 

It was in Heechul’s nature to joke about serious things, to lighten the atmosphere when it seemed heavy, but there were no words he could use to make Hankyung smile right then. He looked defeated, Heechul hated it.

‘Well, I’m alive. Don’t look at me like I’m dying.’

Hankyung said nothing.

\-----------

‘I’m dying, aren’t I?’ Heechul asked one night, both curled up on their old settee watching the television. Hangeng knew Heechul would ask him one day, but that didn’t make it any easier.

‘Heechul,’ 

‘Don’t beat around the bush, Hankyung. I’m not an idiot. When you spoke to the doctors, they told you I was dying, right?’ but he didn’t give Hankyung time to respond, ‘I find myself places and have no idea how I got there, I miss days, I forget to eat. What if I forget you?’ Heechul’s breaths were shaky, and Hangeng held him tighter to his chest, ‘I don’t want to forget.’ 

‘Even if you forgot me, I wouldn’t leave you, Heechul.’ Hankyung said, turning Heechul in his arms so he was facing him, ‘Because before all this, I was your best friend, and that hasn’t changed. Even if you forgot me, I wouldn’t forget you. You’re all I brought with me when we ran away, I’m not going to leave you behind, you’re my favourite piece of luggage.’

\-------

Hangeng entered their apartment, shaking out his umbrella and toeing off his shoes before walking in and hanging his sodden coat upon one of the hangers, the only peg left underneath Heechul’s expensive, flamboyant jackets and coats.

He called out Heechul’s name to see if he was home. Once, twice, still no reply, and he walked further into the house, not seeing the man anywhere; only Champagne curled up on the settee. The television was still on, but Heechul usually forgot to turn it off, so he paid it no heed and carried on into the kitchen, and started to prepare dinner.

As he waited for the food to cook, getting comfortable on the sofa and un-looping his tie, he turned the television down to relax for a second. Heechul always had it on too high, and Hangeng wondered how he wasn’t deaf by now. Only then did he notice the sound of a shower running in the bathroom, and he stood abruptly, rushing to the door but finding it locked. Heechul had a thing for privacy. He knocked. He knocked again. No answer, and he began to get frantic, calling Heechul’s name over the loud sound of water hitting plastic, and after a mere thirty seconds or so he backed up, throwing himself at the door and falling onto the bathroom floor.

It was soaked, the bath was overflowing and the shower and faucets were both on full blast. He got to his feet slowly, and his heart must’ve stopped for a second, because Heechul was in the bath, pale and lifeless as he lay on the base, lungs bloated with water.

He barely took a breath before he reached in and pulled his limp body from the scalding water, setting him on the bathroom floor, not caring about the water for now, and he pumped his chest frantically, blowing quick breaths into his mouth after every few beats.

But Heechul wasn’t responding, and Hangeng was getting breathless. It was a whole minute before his chest spasmed and he choked, taking a mighty gasp of air and spewing the water from his saturated lungs. Hangeng patted his back, and he thanked the Gods he didn’t believe in for saving him again.

But when Heechul recovered his breath, his eyes were different. He looked at Hangeng in a distant way, an unfamiliar way. Hangeng didn’t think it would happen so soon.

‘Who are you?’

\-----

Hangeng stood outside Heechul’s apartment, the same apartment he also lived in, and lazily rolled a daisy between his thumb and forefinger as he waited under his umbrella. It was spring, but the rain was relentless, dousing the budding foliage in a fine spray and making the air seem stuffy and hot. But that was the weather Heechul loved most. Hangeng looked up as the large, metal apartment door was swung open, a middle-aged man stepping out into the rain.

‘You shouldn’t go out without an umbrella,’ Geng called, and like every time he’d said it, the smaller man would spin around, laugh at him with that beautiful mouth, at the stranger stood with the big, pink umbrella. Hangeng knew he looked ridiculous, but if it made Heechul laugh like that, he didn’t care. His heart would skip a beat every time, when he saw that face, even if he saw it every day, every night. Even with the small creases at his eyes, and the smile lines getting more defined as time passed – those eyes made him look young again. The innocence they harboured – the innocence that should’ve been long lost – was what Hangeng lived for.

‘You’ll catch a cold.’ 

\----

It was summer, Heechul’s birthday. Hangeng was in his usual spot, but it was earlier this time, he’d taken the day off work. He always did this time of year. He didn’t have his umbrella that day, replacing it with a sparse bouquet of pink roses instead. He watched Heechul emerge from the apartment, his hair tied back, the faintest of grey hairs streaking the honey-brown locks.

‘Excuse me,’ Hangeng called, and Heechul looked his way, ‘I’ve been stood up, it seems,’ he ran a hand through his messy black hair, looking up at him sheepishly – he looked good for forty-six. He thrust the bouquet in Heechul’s direction, ‘Would you like these?’

And maybe his heart leaped, if it was possible, because that face was all the more beautiful right then, lit up like a child’s at Christmas. He tottered over, fawning over the pink-petalled roses, before looking up at Geng with those wide eyes, ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, and Hangeng nodded.

‘They won’t do me any good, will they?’ he sighed. He’d done this so many times, it was like a ritual. But he never got tired of it.

‘You know,’ Heechul laughed, ‘it’s my birthday today.

‘Really?’ Hangeng exclaimed, feigning surprise, ‘And how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’

He’d heard the answer thousands of times, but he never stopped asking that question, because he still clung to the weak, desperate hope that maybe – just maybe – he’d remember. He’d snap out of it, tell him he was forty-seven, that he remembered Hangeng’s name.

Heechul looked up at the handsome man before him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d met him before, his name on the tip of his tongue, but he brushed the thought away and smiled, stating proudly; 

‘I’m eighteen.’

\------------------

The coffee shop had been closed for months now. A cold December wind whispered through their open apartment window, blowing the time-worn curtains around roughly and displacing the dust that had settled on the coffee table from years of neglect. Hangeng sat at the kitchen table nursing a cold mug of coffee and watching the leaves flutter across the floor. He’d closed the coffee shop because no one went there anymore. The girls that frequented had grown into women, married and moved away, and the shop lost its charm gradually, the same way Hangeng did. He was old, though handsome for his age. His face was mapped with wrinkles and his hands were riddled with veins and his skin was paper-thin. He filled his days with old books and photo albums from the past, each page dog-eared and tinted yellow with time. 

There was a bump, a shuffle, a break in the silence that surrounded him, and he looked up. Heechul stood there, motionless in the hallway, and his eyes had lost their light. He walked closer to Hangeng, and he shrunk back. When Heechul had lost his memories, he’d been aggressive. He had all reason to be, too, because in his eyes Hangeng was young, just a teenage boy. Not the grown man holding him tightly on that bathroom floor. Hangeng had watched over him, silently, because Heechul didn’t know one day from the next, and he wasn’t going to leave him.

But Heechul kept walking closer, and the light fell upon his face as he stepped into the living room. He was old, but timeless to Hangeng’s eyes, still beautiful even in his withered skin and silver hair. He reached out his hand, and he touched Hangeng’s cheek softly, gently, and Hangeng looked him in the eyes. 

‘You got old.’ he laughed, his eyes creasing at the edges, a tear spilling over and onto his cheek, trickling a clear trail to his chin, and Hangeng caught it with his thumb.

‘So did you.’

\--------------------

Hangeng pulled his fingers through his short, sun-bleached brown hair, feeling the warmth of the sun on his tan skin as he walked across the beach, the sand sinking beneath his feet. He looked to the shore, and smiled when he saw a small silhouette sat beside the sea, hair flying this way and that with the cool sea breeze. As he got closer, the figure turned, and a beautiful smile graced his lips. He stood, brushing the sand from his knees, and he held out his hand and Hangeng took it.

‘Let’s run away.’ he whispered, so quiet Hangeng almost missed it, ‘just the two of us.'


End file.
